


com.pul.sion

by Atanih88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-14
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 10:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atanih88/pseuds/Atanih88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam isn't as far away as Dean thinks.</p><p><span class="small"><b>Disclaimer:</b> I do not own any characters in this story. Supernatural and all its characters are property of Eric Kripke and I make no money from these writings.</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	com.pul.sion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spnspringfling challenge, for 13chapters. Didn't get an extra pair of eyes so if any mistakes are spotted, I apologise, please do let me know if you see any.

It's the fourth time in four months that Sam finds himself outside the house, in the exact same spot he'd found himself in when he'd been freed from the cage.

There's the crisp threat of a thunderstorm in the air and he glances up at the sky, takes in the roiling black clouds, thick as volcano ash, piling, layer after layer onto each other. He's still watching them when he hears their voices; Lisa's, laughing, Dean's is lower, quieter. Sam falls back, cloaking himself in the shadows of the house behind him, his attention on the couple as they come into view.

Dean's holding a trash bag in his hand. Lisa's got her arms wrapped around Dean's neck, her body pressed all along the line of his back and her face turned into Dean's neck. Dean's head is down but Sam can see the hint of a small smile on his face, the kind that not many people get to see. Sam remembers that.

Sam stays where he is, out of view and still, with his hands down by his sides.

He remembers that smile.

All he has to do is flick back through the stack of memories in his head and he can find a handful of them in which that smile had been the result of something Sam had said.

Sam shifts and he frowns. Seeing that look on Dean's face had usually been accompanied by a sense of something more, a wash of tight warmth over his chest, or something like that. Sam can't remember that part well, it's a a little fuzzy around the edges. But he knows that that feeling isn't present now. Sam doesn't particularly miss it.

Lisa presses a kiss to Dean's temple and Dean's eyes crinkle a little more at the corners. Then she steps back, hand sweeping appreciatively down Dean's back and over Dean's ass, earning herself a leer from Dean before she slips back into the house. She leaves the door open and the light stays on Dean's back, a lemon yellow, bright against the dark blues of their surroundings.

Sam watches the smile disappear on Dean's face.

Dean glances over his shoulder at the door and rubs a hand over his face. Sam feels a detached curiosity at the change in Dean's mood, wonders what it means that it looks like the peace that had been evident a few seconds ago, isn't present at all now. Sam doesn't know how it works anymore.

Dean slips out from beneath the warm light of the house and into the cool dark, carrying the trash with him.

The wind is picking up. It makes the black clouds roll faster across the sky. It catches Dean's shirt, open over his t-shirt and blows it away from Dean's back as he heads across the road to the dumpster. His entire posture has changed. His shoulders are tight; the angles of his face harsh and weary under the play of lights that translate to black and white on his skin. Sam doesn't think Dean looked like that before. He can't find a memory in which Dean looked so—defeated. Resigned. Not this way.

Again Sam realises that this would have made him feel a certain way before. But there's nothing, nada, zilch.

It baffles him. The same way his return to this house does. There's nothing that he needs here.

He looks at Dean now, as he does after each time he finds himself pulling his car to a stop two streets down from this one, and Sam sees nothing that he wants. Maybe before he would've needed Dean and wanted him with him, but now that's not the case. He's more effective on his own, without people to weigh him down.

Dean would do that. Dean would screw things up, would let loyalty and blood, drag him down.

Dean throws the lid of the dumpster open and tosses the trash in. Then he flips the lid back on and turns to head back into the house.

The door had slipped shut from the air current and where there had been a wash of light coming from inside the house, now there's only four little squares of it on the path leading up to the steps. Dean stops right at its edge and stares up at the house.

Sam sees Dean's jaw clench and his fists tighten. And then Dean is turning where he stands, sweeping the quiet street, attention sharp.

As his gaze travels over the spot where Sam is standing, Sam moves back a little more.

It's odd. Sam feels his heart beat pick up, feels it drum faster in his chest and that's rare. That doesn't happen even during a hunt.

But there's something here.

Dean's eyes linger but Sam knows that Dean can't see him. It's too dark where he is, and he'd withdrawn until he was under the shadow of the house. There's no light behind him to outline him and reveal his presence.

And then something interesting happens. Sam feels it. He thinks, what happens if I step forward right now. In his head he sees shock parting Dean's mouth, sees Dean's eyes widen and he knows Dean would probably cover the distance as if it weren't even there. He knows Dean would turn his back on the yellow square of light from the house and walk right into the dark around Sam. Into Sam's dark.

He feels his breath shorten, like his lungs can't expand enough to take in proper breaths and it confuses him for a moment. He frowns down at his chest as if that will show him what's wrong with it.

Sam thinks that it's like being on the edge of a plank, feeling curiosity latch on to him, asking him what might happen if he jumps in. It's like a buzz of energy cupping the curves of his shoulders, trying to motion him forward. It wouldn't Sam long to reach the light of the street lamp. It's different to the light from inside Lisa's place. This one is a cold pool of white on concrete.

Then suddenly Dean seems to still. His head tilts to the side and he turns fully to face Sam's direction as if trying to get a better look. Sam feels that compulsion tighten, a rope around his chest. He wonders if this is what excitement feels like. His throat is dry.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

Sam's eyes narrow and he stiffens, muscles tightening without his permission, like they're not under his control. He steps further back into the shadows. He reaches into his pocket and tugs it out. Samuel's name flashes on the screen and Sam stares at it blankly for a few seconds, careful to keep the light of the phone from flashing in Dean's direction.

He answers it, flattening himself to the side of the house but keeping his eyes on Dean.

"What?"

"You're late. You know we're on a schedule Sam. If we don't move fast that nest's gonna skip town."

Dean relaxes back and turns away. He walks over the squares of light and on up the stairs. He doesn't glance back outside as he opens the door but Sam sees the way Dean straightens his back, shoulders right and head held high as he goes inside. His back disappears when the door closes.

Miles away, the thunder booms into the sky, reaching Sam a few seconds later.

"Yeah. I'm on my way." He hangs up before Samuel can reply.

Sam turns his back on the house and walks away.

By the time he reaches his car, the impulse that had almost taken him over, is forgotten.

Sam gets in and starts the car. He promises himself that he won't be coming back again. Like he has before. But this time it will stick.

Dean has nothing Sam needs.

~

com.pul.sion  
[k _uh_ m- **puhl** -sh _uh_ n]  
 _ **–noun**_  
 **1.** the  act of compelling; constraint; coercion.  
 **2.** the state or condition of being  compelled.  
 **3.** _Psychology_ , a strong, usually irresistible impulse to perform an act, especially one that is irrational or contrary to one's will.


End file.
